


Whispering Pines

by floorcoaster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:13:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floorcoaster/pseuds/floorcoaster
Summary: The Winter Solstice is a day full of promise for both Draco and Hermione.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 51
Kudos: 259
Collections: D/Hr Advent 2020





	Whispering Pines

_===_

_If you find me in a gloom, or catch me in a dream,  
Inside my lonely room, there is no in between  
Whispering pines, rising of the tide,  
If only one star shines  
That's just enough to get inside._

_===_

It’s the smell of the pines, he decides. There’s something about it that calms him, speaks to him, reaches inside him and soothes the restlessness. Add to that the crisp, cleanness of the fresh snow and the steady, blazing fire, and Draco thinks there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

His best mates, Blaise, Theo, and Greg, are sitting around the fire with him, stocked with enough liquid provisions to last them a week. It would be their last gathering as four, single men; Draco is due to marry in less than two weeks. 

As if sensing his mood, the fire shivers, dimming unnaturally for the barest fraction of a second. Nobody else seems to have noticed. He stares at the flames, entranced by the way they dance and flicker, never the same twice, infinitely mesmerizing. 

A pine cone hits Draco’s shoulder, and Blaise grins, his arm still extended from the perfect throw. “Hey! Enough with the deep introspection!” Theo and Greg snicker. “Get out of your head for once, Draco. We’re here to celebrate!”

“Hear, hear!” Theo raises his bottle of beer toward the fire. Greg and Blaise do likewise, and Draco, with a grudging smile, does as well. They all drink.

“I can’t believe you’re the first of us to marry.” Blaise is a happy bachelor living in Paris. He works in fashion and never warms his bed with the same woman twice. 

“Can’t you?” Greg scoffs at Blaise, shaking his head. “I’m surprised he isn’t already married.” Greg is in a serious relationship with Hannah Abbott, something which nobody saw coming but absolutely makes sense. Why they haven’t married yet is the biggest mystery of them all.

“What’s the most surprising,” Theo says with a slight twist to his smile, “is that he’s marrying Astoria Greengrass, the most sought after witch in England. At least, by our set.” Theo is… Theo. He lives alone in Hogsmeade in a tiny house, spurning every advantage his family name and fortune would allow. He’s refused to follow the traditional pureblood lifestyle, and there is a huge part of Draco that is green with envy at the way his friend was able to throw everything away—happily and with no regrets.

Greg raises his bottle again. “I’ll drink to that.” 

They all drink except Draco, who rolls his eyes instead.

“How exactly did that happen, mate?”

It had all happened so fast. He hasn’t seen his friends since his whirlwind courtship began, and he’s been dreading this moment since Theo popped in to his office at the DMLE and informed him, with no quarter, that he’d be joining them tonight for drinks. 

Draco shrugs. “Well, it’s not… exciting or anything.”

Greg smirks at Blaise who crosses his arms, eyes still fixed on Draco. “Tell us, mate. You two have a shag and realize you were well-suited? Figured, why not? Best get this part of life settled?”

“I’ll bet they bonded over some china pattern or something.” Theo is teasing; he knows Draco better than that. 

“You do love her, yeah?” Greg’s expression is anxious, and Draco feels a rush of warmth for his friend, the only one of them in a good relationship, who wants the same for all the people he cares about. 

Draco sighs and takes a long drink. “The truth is… It was Lucius.” Everybody cringes. “He told me it was high time I married. He all but picked Astoria out of a bloody catalog. I had no say in the matter whatsoever. No sooner had he chosen her than her family was invited over to discuss terms.”

Theo lets out a low whistle. 

“So, you had no say in it?” Greg’s eyes are sad.

Draco throws a stick into the fire. “I suppose if I had some great objection—”

“Other than not loving her, you mean?”

Draco glares at his friend. Greg means well, but he doesn’t understand. His family is nothing like Draco’s, the expectations on him nonexistent. Greg has two older brothers and a cadre of nieces and nephews. Nobody cares who Greg marries. 

“I’m sorry, Draco.” Greg puts up his hands in submission. “I don’t mean to pry. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

Blaise is rubbing the back of his neck and Theo won’t look him in the eye. Draco takes another drink, annoyed to find there’s not much left in his bottle. “Theo. Another.”

Theo, for some unfathomable reason, is in charge of the alcohol. He pulls another bottle from the cooler and tosses it to Draco. 

“I mean, she’s beautiful. You’ll be the envy of every wizard you meet.” Blaise waggles his eyebrows suggestively, breaking the tension. Theo laughs too loud and Greg chuckles. 

Draco relaxes and opens his second beer. 

“Is there someone else?” For some reason, Greg doesn’t look at Draco when he asks, instead glancing between Theo and Blaise as though looking for their support. 

“What?” Draco chuckles darkly. “When would I have time for someone else, Greg? I’m still deep in bloody community service. I’ve been hand washing bedpans for two months at Mungo’s. When am I supposed to find someone else?”

Greg again looks at Blaise, whose expression is surprisingly closed. But that doesn’t deter Greg from speaking. “There were... rumors. In eighth.”

“Steady now, mate.” Theo’s tone is a warning.

“What rumors?” Draco frowns from one friend to the next. 

Greg hesitates, then shrugs with a forced laugh, bringing his bottle to his lips. “Oh, you must know. Rumors about you and, well, Granger.” He immediately tips the bottle back.

Draco spits out his drink. Wiping his mouth, he sets the bottle on the ground. “Me and... Granger?” His eyes flit from Greg to Blaise to Theo. Only Theo looks him in the eye, so Draco addresses him. “What rumors?”

His heart is pounding out a fast rhythm, but he keeps his gaze cool. 

After a moment, Blaise breaks the tense silence. “Enough of this pussyfooting shite. Look, Draco, mate. We’re all friends here, yeah? We all saw the two of you. Always together... _studying_.” The last word is drenched in innuendo. “We’ve never seen you that happy. Everybody noticed. Rumors flew. With your history, once you two made friends... It seemed inevitable.”

Draco grits his teeth. “What seemed inevitable?” 

Theo lets out a nervous chuckle. “I accompanied you on a handful of those study sessions with her. You could cut the tension with a knife, mate.”

“What tension? We were quite fine! I’d apologized for everything and—”

“The _sexual_ tension.” Blaise throws another pine cone at him, which he catches easily, wincing. 

“Come on, Blaise! Those are sharp!” He throws it back at his friend, hitting him despite Blaise swerving to get out of the way. 

His friend yelps, frantically searching his jumper for damage. “Hey! This is cashmere!” 

Theo chuckles. “Draco, the rumors were that you and Granger regularly... you know. Shagged.”

Draco blinks, his heart stuttering. Memories flash through his mind: her smile, her laugh, the genuine concern in her eyes for him, the way she held a quill. Yes, he’d been quite taken with her in eighth, but they’d never even so much as kissed. 

Finally, he thinks he can speak. “Why did I never hear these rumors?”

Theo chuckles. “You frequently threatened violence on anyone who dared to speak a word against her. Nobody was going to risk getting hexed by you. _Or_ Granger.”

Draco’s friends all shudder, then look at him, staring expectantly. Nobody says a word. 

“What?” he snarls.

“Well? I mean, bloody hell. You’re marrying Astoria on New Year’s day. You can tell us about you and Granger. After all, it was, what, five years ago?”

The five year comment makes him go very still. Before he can process this information, however, Theo speaks. “Yeah, Draco. We want all the details! Every juicy, salacious--”

“You’re all a lot of tossers.” He grins, trying to be nonchalant. “There’s nothing to tell. Granger and I were friends, nothing more.”

All three of them stare. 

“You’re a bleeding liar!” Blaise exclaims.

Theo’s eyes are wide with disbelief.

Greg merely chuckles. “Draco, you can tell us! Nobody outside this group will ever know! We’ll take Unbreakable Vows if you want.”

Draco clenches his jaw. “What I _want_ is for you lot to believe me. Granger and I never happened. Yes, we were friends, and yes, I spent a lot of time with her, but... That’s all. I’ll drink Veritaserum if you want. Those rumors were dead wrong.”

A full minute of silence passes as Draco’s friends look at each other, at him, at the fire. 

Finally, Blaise whistles. “Alright. I suppose I believe you.”

“You should, it’s the truth.” Draco rolls his eyes. “I can’t believe none of you had the guts to tell me about this until now.”

Theo starts on his second drink. “We thought you knew. How could you not have known? Everybody knew.” 

Draco tries to look as though he’s working to remember, but the truth is, thoughts of her, memories of their brief but brilliant friendship are easy to recollect because he does it frequently.

Hermione had been the one great brightness in his life; his biggest triumph was befriending her. It was the deepest connection he’d ever felt, and he’d fallen for her quickly—and _hard_. 

Their chemistry had been undeniable, something they had both been forced to come to terms with. But she’d been trying to sort out her feelings for the Weasel King, and he’d had a myriad reasons why he should not— _could not_ —allow anything to happen between them.

It hadn’t been the right time; they’d both agreed, though he had hated every moment of it. 

They’d come close to crossing that line on the night of the Winter Solstice. The eighth year students had chosen to celebrate in their joint common room, and Hermione had stuck around for a short while before disappearing without a word. Draco watched her go, and after some time passed, he followed. He’d had too much to drink. The incredible desire to snog her senseless had been growing stronger each day. 

She’d gone exactly where he thought she would. 

_Their spot_.

A thick clump of pine trees stood just a few dozen yards into the Forbidden Forest, and they’d both independently discovered it near the beginning of the year. When they’d realized they both used the space to get away from everything—the memories, the stares and questions, the mundanity of school life—they’d agreed to share. 

He’d found her there, sitting in a cleared, dry patch of ground, eyes closed and a slight smile on her face. 

He’d nearly kissed her that night. But she’d stopped him, even though everything about her was on edge and he’d thought she’d wanted to kiss him, too. When he’d stepped away, needing space to recover from what he’d almost done and her rejection, she’d taken his hand and pleaded with him to understand. They’d talked through everything and confessed their feelings, but they agreed it wasn’t the right time. They’d agreed— 

Another pine cone hits him, this time in the side of the head. Draco scowls, and with a lightning quick flick of his wand, sends pine cones at each of his friends—and his aim is, as always, true.

“I don’t care who threw that one. You all deserved it.” He smirks in satisfaction. 

Theo rubs his thigh. “Calling your name didn’t help.”

Blaise leans forward, rests an elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. He bats his eyelashes, exaggerating every move. “Were you thinking about her? Granger?”

“Screw you.” Draco scowls and tips his bottle back.

The others laugh. 

Then Draco tosses his empty bottle into the bin. “I swear on my magic that nothing happened with Granger.”

This gets their attention and the laughter dies. 

“Oh, wow. I did not expect that. Well, sorry mate.” Greg gives him a sympathetic half-smile. 

Theo and Blaise exchange a look; the latter nods. Theo pulls a different bottle from the alcohol stash while Blaise Conjures four glasses. He hands one to Theo and Greg and tosses Draco’s over the fire. 

Draco catches it easily, his Seeker reflexes still sharp. “Is that what I think it is?” It’s too dark to see the label, but the shape is familiar.

Theo grins. “My father’s best whiskey? Hell yes. If he thinks a few flimsy wards will keep me out of his stash, he has seriously underestimated me. Hasn't worked since I was thirteen.”

Draco tosses a few more pine cones into the fire, watching the dying flames flicker back to life. Theo levitates the bottle around so everyone can pour their drinks. Then he holds his glass up to Draco.

“So... You’re marrying Astoria.” Theo seems at a loss for words. 

Greg shots him a sideways look. “But you’re thinking about Granger.”

Draco glares at his friend. “I’m not. I haven’t thought about her in years.” _Lies_.

“Methinks he doth protest too much.” Blaise smirks and downs his drink. 

Greg and Theo do the same, but Draco stares at the dark, amber liquid—dark like Hermione’s eyes, sparkling in firelight. “Did you say it’s been five years since Hogwarts? It hasn’t been that long, has it?”

“Almost. June will mark five years since we finished. Why?” Greg’s question is innocent, curious. 

Draco lets out a measured breath, the wheels beginning to churn, his heart not daring to beat any faster. “I thought it was a year away, at least. What’s today’s date?”

“Twentieth of December two-thousand three.” Blaise frowns. “You okay, mate?”

His thoughts are sluggish at first as he ticks through his memories, confirming that it is, indeed, nearly five years since his last Solstice at Hogwarts. Somehow, he’d gotten confused; he’d been so distracted lately. Then his heart decides that now it’s time to start thundering in his chest, now it’s time to remember and imagine and hope. But everything is a jumble and it’s a huge mess because there are so many questions and unknowns. And just like that, he’s ready for the evening to end. There is so much to consider, and there isn’t a whole lot of time. He knows how it would look to leave now, however, so he resigns himself to at least half an hour more before he can reasonably bow out of a gathering in his honor.

Once he is alone, he won’t have much time—not for the work required of him to proceed. It will be a late night, but that’s okay. He is excited for the first time in longer than he can remember. His mind is spinning, and he feels alive—more alive than he’s felt since Hogwarts. 

The path of his future lies before him, as it always has, but just ahead, so close he almost missed it, there is an overgrown trail leading away from the wide, easy road he is meant to trod. Where it leads, he doesn’t know.

The unknown is terrifying.

He isn’t normally brave. He’s never been one to cause a stir or rock the boat. But there is a chance, no matter how small, that the narrow path will make all the difference. The only question that remains is if he has the courage to take it.

_===_

_Foghorn through the night, calling out to sea  
Protect my only light, 'cause she once belonged to me.  
Let the waves rush in, let the seagulls cry  
For if I live again, these hopes will never die,  
I can feel you standing there  
But I don't see you anywhere._

_===_

Whenever she catches a whiff of the scent of pine trees, she smiles. The strong, woody smell transports her to a simpler time, a time of new growth, long days of studying, and a surprising friendship that had changed the course of her life.

Add the clean notes of freshly fallen snow to that scent of pine, and her heart skips a beat, her breath catches, and she has to pause, collect herself. 

The aroma is full of promise, and every year, as the days shorten to their nadir, she can’t help the way her heart beats quicker as her pulse dances. She remembers the night, almost five years ago exactly, under a canopy of pine trees, when she nearly gave her heart away. 

On the morning of the Winter Solstice she has her day planned down to the minute. It will be a day of remembering, of mourning what might have been, and putting the past firmly behind her.

Hermione had rented a room in Hogsmeade so that she could spend the day of the Solstice as close as possible to where it all began—where everything was put on hold—the place she would revisit to finally put it all to rest.

She takes her cup of tea out to the small porch off her room, wrapped in a warm blanket, and sits on one of the two metal chairs. As she sets her cup down on the matching table to get properly situated, she laments that the space is designed for two. 

But it’s fine. It’s been awhile since she was part of a couple. She’d somewhat expected, even allowed herself to assume, that something would have happened to change her status since the end of that relationship, but as the days and weeks passed, she resigned herself to the truth. Then, of course, came the news, and the ceaseless flow of updates and reports and speculation and commentary. Running through every article was a joyous theme of celebration, as the joining of two powerful, ancient magical families would be a highly anticipated event by the wizarding world at large, not least because of how different the two families are. 

And yet. 

It is the Winter Solstice, and magic can happen. Hermione believes in magic with all of her being. 

Even while her head knows that there’s nothing to be done, nothing to hope for. 

Today is about release, and she plans to let go, no matter what that takes. She has this room for one more night, and she will mourn and rage and destroy things, sob and sleep and eat ice cream. She will read and laze by the fire until she is ready to emerge, fresh and renewed and prepared for new starts. She doesn’t know how she’ll process today’s reality, but she is armed for every eventuality. 

A chilly breeze rustles the branches of the nearest tree—a Scots pine, she notes—and a whiff of one of her favorite scents wafts over her. She wonders if this will change, if the aroma she has come to love will turn bittersweet. It has always been a source of comfort for her, but after today, she doubts it will remain so. 

When her tea is finished, Hermione returns to her room to begin her day. First on her list is a long, luxurious bubble-bath; she chose this rental room specifically for the large, claw-foot tub in the ensuite. 

She is going to take time for herself today. Christmas is soon, so she’ll do some shopping. There are still a few people she wants to get gifts for. She’ll eat lunch in her favorite café with her favorite book, rereading her favorite passages. In the afternoon, she will do something peaceful in her room: read, rest, meditate. Then, around three, she will pack a small picnic for tea time and make her way to Hogwarts, to her favorite spot just inside the Forbidden Forest. 

Sunset is precisely 3:42; she has checked multiple Muggle sources and plans to be there at least fifteen minutes early. She will nervously await sunset, then, once it’s past, she will exhale, maybe cry a little, then prepare tea for herself. She’ll drink it and let herself feel whatever she needs to in that moment. After tea, she’ll go back to her room and pass her time as she feels best. She’s made no rules for what comes after; her well thought-out plan only goes that far.

The day passes surprisingly quickly, considering the growing nugget of dread in her gut. She is mostly able to ignore it, to go about her business as usual, but sometimes, when a cool breeze blows the scent of fresh snow her way or she sees a stray pine cone in a snowdrift, a wave of anxiety courses through her. 

Before she realizes it, she is packing her tea things and Apparating to the grounds at Hogwarts. No classes are in session, and Minerva welcomes her with a succinct hug. Hermione had already cleared this visit with the Headmistress. 

“Enjoy yourself, Miss Granger. And you are more than welcome to join us for a small solstice feast after sunset.”

Hermione smiles. “Thank you again. It’s possible, but I’m making no plans.”

“Of course, my dear.” She tuts, mildly disapproving. “I never would have guessed you spent so much time out of bounds in your eighth year. But, you were of age, and Merlin knows you could handle yourself.”

She had neglected to mention that much of her time out of bounds had been spent with Draco Malfoy. “Happy Solstice, Minerva.”

It is a short, practiced walk to the Forest. She thinks she could close her eyes and make the trek by memory, even after so much time, but she needs them open to gather some pine cones and branches for later. It is a habit that hasn’t been broken, despite how long it’s been since she’s done it. The sun is low behind the trees, casting long, purple shadows on the pristine snowscape. It has clearly snowed since the students were here, with no disturbances to the surface save for a few animal tracks. 

It’s a sobering thought that hers are the only human footprints. But, no matter, it is not surprising. 

As she nears the spot, her heart begins to race. She has so many memories here, most of them involving him, all of which rank amongst her best memories of her time at Hogwarts. 

Long hours spent reading, side by side.

Gathering potion ingredients and lingering beyond what was strictly necessary.

Walks into the forest collecting pine cones to fuel late night fireside conversations that lasted until the small hours of the morning.

And that one moment, on the Solstice, when she had pressed her hand to his chest and begged him not to cross that line. She knew things would not have been the same after that happened, and even though they’d confessed their attraction to one another, they’d both agreed to wait—he far more grudgingly than she. 

But she had been with Ron at the time, trying to eke out a relationship despite being apart. Her almost instant attraction to Draco upon seeing him at the start of eighth year, which only grew as she got to know him better, didn’t help matters. She and Ron managed to make it through their year of separation intact, and then they’d put a lot of effort into making it work—sort of—for another few years. No matter how much she’d wanted things with Ron to last, the truth was that what she’d believed to be a minor infatuation with Draco was, in reality, something far deeper and more meaningful. 

Somehow, she’d let herself fall in love with him. 

The clearing amidst the dense growth of evergreen trees is largely the same as she remembered. It is her favorite season in this spot, the floor of the forest carpeted with a thick layer of snow. She can see a slight lump in the center, under which lies the vestiges of the fire pit she and Draco had fashioned. 

Hermione checks her watch. She has twenty minutes. Best get to it then. 

With a quick flick of her wand, the fire pit is uncovered. She clears the area around it, dries the ground, and sets out a blanket. 

But her tasks are complete so quickly that she is left with time—time to wait and dread and agonize. Naturally, her thoughts drift to the last Solstice she spent here. 

The party in the eighth year common room was just really getting started when she’d been struck by the desire to flee. She knew couples would soon begin drifting away, intent on celebrating the longest night of the year. She’d told herself she wanted to leave because she wasn’t with her boyfriend, but it had been a lie. 

She had watched Draco consume one drink after another, watched his gaze increasingly turn toward her, the fire in his eyes burning hotter each time. She’d never been an idiot; she knew they weren’t quite ‘just friends.’ But she had downed enough of the spiked punch to feel delightfully buzzed, and she hadn’t trusted herself. She could have gotten lost in his eyes on a normal day, but that night they’d threatened to consume her. 

Her mistake had been in thinking she could slip out undetected—or, rather, that their spot was the best place for her escape to. 

As soon as their eyes met, she knew she was at a crossroads. 

He hadn’t even hesitated. He’d marched toward her with purpose and even managed to thread his fingers in her hair before she’d stopped him. It had taken every ounce of strength she’d possessed, but it had been enough. After that, with the freezing wind taking the edge off their buzz, they were able to think more clearly. 

It was another long night by the fire, and once she’d explained why they couldn’t be more than they were just then, he’d begun to see the wisdom in her decision. 

They’d concluded their time with a promise to meet again in five years if they wanted to give a relationship a try. It had been his idea.

They’d passed the rest of the year at school as friends, friends who cared for each other as more than strictly friends should. They did everything together, never so much as mentioning the plan to meet. 

The last rays of sunlight filter through the trees and Hermione sighs. She knows he isn’t coming. He’s getting married—soon. In less than two weeks, the man she has come to believe might be the best person to spend her life with will marry someone else. 

She’d ached for him when he was imprisoned, knowing it was coming but hating it all the same. He’d been allowed no visitors, no communication except with immediate family and his counselor. House arrest followed, and still no visitors were allowed. After a year, he could receive occasional mail, but by then, her own life had become busy. She’d grown accustomed to not hearing from him, burying the hurt under more work that anyone except her could handle. She’d carried on with her life, not realizing that with every passing day, little by little, she was letting him go. 

Not to mention she’d still been trying to make things work with Ron. By the time they finally called it quits for good, she’d all but forgotten about falling in love with Draco years before. 

Hermione looks at the pine cones for a long moment, blowing out a breath before she moves them into the pit, lights the fire with her wand, and sets up a hook on which to hang her kettle. The sun will be gone in three minutes, and she wants her tea as soon as possible. 

Checking that her blanket is still dry, she sits down and begins pulling things from her basket. She’s packed her favorite tea things, even her favorite cup—a loud, bright floral one that had belonged to her grandmother. It is one of her most treasured possessions, despite being categorically ugly. She has too many memories of her grandmother using it to call it anything but precious. 

She is focused on getting everything set up just right, but when she gets to the bottom of her basket, she freezes. Tears spring into her eyes as she realizes she has failed to pack a second cup. Despite the insistent well of hope within her, somehow she’d known she’d drink this tea alone. 

Sinking back into a sitting position, Hermione chuckles. The sun is its most glorious now, the reds and oranges making the snow around her look like it’s on fire; the temperature is dropping significantly. 

She is cold and utterly alone.

_===_

_Standing by the well, wishing for the rains  
Reaching for the clouds, for nothing else remains,  
Drifting in a daze, when evening will be done  
Try looking through a haze,  
At an empty house, in the cold, cold sun_

_===_

Draco is watching her arrange a tea party. Minerva had been astonished when he’d arrived at the gates, and he’d followed Hermione tracks across the grounds.

It had been a last minute decision to come, though he’d been wrestling with it all day. It isn’t a simple matter of meeting her, of seeing her for the first time in years. Coming here, for him, means he has weighed his options and made his decisions, sifted through everything—Astoria, his parents’ wishes, his father’s expectations. For him, it’s not a casual reunion between two school friends. It’s not even fulfilling a vow. 

It’s a confession.

It’s a request. 

It’s removing his heart and handing it to her, showing her where she belongs and how she fits. Showing her the places he’s made for her and hoping to Merlin she handles it with care. 

She alone has the power to crush it.

She doesn’t know all of this, of course. His years of drudgery—Azkaban, house arrest, community service—had all but ripped this memory from him. The mention of the years since Hogwarts and the Solstice by his friends the night before recalled the pledge he had made to her five years ago today. Part of him can’t believe he’d almost missed this. Another part of him is surprised that, after shoving the feelings down for so long to numb the pain, he remembered at all. 

He watches her hands still, her body slump. He sees the fire in the snow, and just as the sun is about to disappear, there is a glorious flash that makes him gasp.

Hermione whirls around, eyes wide with surprise. 

He is just inside the clearing, far enough to be outside the heat of the fire, but close enough to see the tear tracks on her cheeks. He wants to rush to her, but he hasn’t seen her in a long time, and he doesn't know what her tears might mean. Instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“May I join you?”

She swipes at her eyes, then stands, expression wary, as though she doesn’t believe what she’s seeing. “I’ve only one teacup.”

“I’ve got my wand.” He shrugs. “So that’s sorted.”

With a terse nod, she motions toward the blanket. He approaches confidently, though he feels anything but. Maybe this was a mistake after all. 

Hermione returns to her spot and prepares her tea, then hands the kettle to him. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, Conjuring a large mug. 

She is drinking quietly when he finishes preparing his, casting him long glances from the corner of her eye. When he takes his first sip, she speaks. 

“You’re here.”

“I am. I’ve been here for a few minutes, but I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“We missed the sunset.” 

He shrugs, thinking nothing could be more captivating, more exquisite, more beautiful in that moment than her. 

She nods and looks down at her hands, then points to a box. “Those were your favorites. Before. I don’t know if they still are.”

Draco pulls the lid off and a smile breaks out. “Chocolate Dragon Eggs! I haven’t had one of these in ages.” He pops one into his mouth. “This brings back memories.”

“So... How have you been?”

He’s still chewing as he regards her. She is very carefully avoiding his stare. “Do you remember how some nights, we’d come out here and barely talk at all?”

Her eyes flash when she finally looks at him. “Are you saying you want to sit here in complete silence?”

“Hermione.” Her name slips off his tongue as easily as ever, despite not having spoken it in years. “It’s been years since we’ve talked. That’s a lot of catching up. “

“Four years, two months, eighteen days.” She stares into the fire, her voice barely audible. She seems to realize what she’s said and she looks at him for an instant, her cheeks flushing prettily, before turning away again and taking another sip. “I only know because I was curious. The last time I saw you was at your trial, but of course, we didn’t speak.”

Draco remembers that day well. Even though she’d been there to speak for him, they’d been on opposite sides of the courtroom, and the last thing he saw as they led him away was her sad smile and a small wave. She’d walked out hand-in-hand with Weasley. 

There are dozens of unspoken questions lingering in the air between them, so loud he can almost hear them. Surely she wants to ask why all this time has gone by without a word of communication between them, why he didn’t reach out. How could he have claimed to care for her and then let over four years pass in silence?

He wants to comfort her, somehow, to touch her. Just her hand, the way they used to when they were reading together, a blanket spread beneath them, keeping a respectable distance. Only… sometimes her hand would drift over to his side, and he would let his own wander until their fingers brushed. Neither ever spoke of it or acknowledged it, this one concession they’d made, but they would read for hours, fingers laced or absently exploring the dips and peaks of the other’s hand. There were plenty of days he couldn’t even manage that because he didn’t quite trust himself not to want more. 

It’s hard to believe this is the same woman, that she is here with him again, in this same place that meant so much to them both. He is glad he chose to end things with Astoria already because this would be the perfect time and place to start something new—assuming that was what she wanted. 

“Are we consigned to sit in silence, then?”

“Happy Solstice, Hermione.” 

Their eyes meet, and she shivers despite the heat from the fire. 

“I still want to know how you are. We’re both here for a reason, might as well get to it.” She is all business, it would seem. 

“I’m absolutely fine.” He smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You’ve forgotten that you can’t lie to me, Draco.” She shakes her head with a chuckle. “Now, tell me the truth.”

He _had_ forgotten. How had he forgotten? 

“Alright, then. I’m as well as can be expected for someone who went through hell in Azkaban, died daily of boredom during house arrest, and now cleans bedpans at St. Mungo’s by hand for ten hours a day. If I'm really lucky, then in four months, I might get promoted to scrubbing toilets. Still without magic, mind you. Have to use this special hospital grade cleaner. They make me wear gloves, Hermione. After completing my time there, assuming all goes well, I’ll finally be able to decide for myself how I want to spend my life.” The look of horror on her face makes him laugh. “What about you? What have you found to do with yourself?”

She sighs deeply. “I’m… struggling, if I’m honest.”

His mirth evaporates, and he’s amazed at her immediate, unreserved honesty. It’s been many years, yet it would seem that she still trusts him as much now as she did before. She has no doubt that he will keep her secrets, despite the break in their friendship. It’s humbling. He doesn’t believe he deserves such trust or a friend like her. Naturally, he will never speak a word of this or any other meeting between them, but unlike her, this is an exception and not a rule of his character. 

“I’m struggling to find my place. I fought so hard to help Harry, to show that I was just as worthy of magic as your lot—though, let’s not kid ourselves that blood supremacy was the point of Voldemort’s efforts.”

“We’ve had innumerable conversations on this topic, if memory serves.” He smiles, then notices something in her hair. He leans forward and pulls it free, holding it out for her to see. 

Hermione reaches for it, and their fingers brush. She freezes, their hands barely touching, eyes locked on each other. Then she blinks and takes it from him, scrutinizing it as though it might be some rare, delicate potions ingredient. “From a Scots pine. My favorite tree.” She waves her arm around the clearing. “We’re surrounded by them. The leaves are blue-green needles, and they grow in pairs. I’ve always found them a bit romantic.”

He stares at the pine needles because if he looks at her, he might do something rash—like kiss her. Merlin, ten minutes in her presence has answered all his questions. 

_Yes, he’s still attracted to her. Yes, he still loves being with her. Yes, it still takes all of his willpower not to act on his attraction._

Yes. 

He _would_ walk away from everything— _for her_. 

“Will you continue?” His voice comes out scratchy, as though from disuse. “I would think you could find a place anywhere.”

“That’s just it, though. Everyone is so quick to offer me anything I want, but there's nothing of substance to do. And everyone expects so much of me.” A long sigh escapes her lips. “Honestly, I’m rather terrified that I’ve already peaked and I’ll have nothing to offer the world.”

“You’re too hard on yourself. You _did_ help save the world already once in your life. I’d say you’re due for some down time. You shouldn’t expect to save it again so soon.”

“In school, I felt at my best. I love learning, but there isn’t much room for that within the confines of the Ministry. It’s all about numbers and reports and talking an impressive game, even if you don’t actually get anything accomplished.”

“Forget the Ministry, Hermione. You can do so much better.”

“Oh? Like what?”

He shrugs. A chilly breeze slices through the clearing and they exchange a look. 

She tosses a pine cone into the fire with a sigh, and they both watch it crackle and burn back to life. “We aren’t going to solve my work problems today.”

There’s really only one thing he needs to know; everything else can wait until after that. Draco takes a deep breath and turns away from the fire to look at her. “Are you seeing anyone? I couldn’t find anything in the papers when I looked earlier.”

The look she gives him is inscrutable, yet he feels the waves of annoyance. For an instant, he recoils and hunkers down, preparing to defend himself. Then he remembers that his wedding is less than two weeks away, a wedding that has been the subject of too many news articles over the last several months. 

“No. I’m not.” Her response is clipped, but it’s all he needs. 

Well, not quite _all_. 

“No need to ask _you_ that question.” Hermione’s jaw clenches. “I checked my memory recently so that I’d be sure about what this pledge really entailed. The wording we used was that we’d meet and see about starting something.”

“I know.” 

She continues as though she hasn’t heard him, using a long stick to poke the fire. “Neither of us were in a position to enter into a relationship in eighth. I was with Ron, and it didn’t seem fair to me to end things with him when we hadn’t given it much time.” She snorts. “A thousand years wouldn’t have been enough, but I didn’t know that then. It took me too long to figure it out. And you—”

“I had a prison sentence ahead of me, and I didn’t know how long it would be. Starting something would have been foolish.” Sometimes he has wondered, however, if he made the right choice. But at the time, he couldn’t see past his trial, and he couldn’t allow her to hold out hope for him that he didn’t even have for himself.

“Precisely. We agreed. Everything made perfect sense.”

They sit quietly, the silence companionable with just a hint of tension. 

Hermione pulls her knees to her chest, wraps her arms around her legs. “Did we make a mistake?”

He glances at her; she’s still watching the fire dance. He’s gone through this scenario more times than he cares to count, and each time, he concludes that they wouldn’t have made it. Yet, here they are, still not together. He wonders if maybe they should have tried. 

She gives him plenty of time to think.

“Those months we spent as friends are the best months of my life. Maybe it would have been better, in some ways, had we been together, but then I know I would have ended it before going to prison. I had no clue what would come of my trial, and as it turned out, I didn’t just get Azkaban, I got house arrest for two years and now community service. I can’t regret not dragging you through that—to say nothing of my parents’ reactions had I told them I was dating you.” 

She says nothing, her gaze still fixed on the flames. 

“It wasn’t a mistake. I was young and all turned around, and despite how I felt about you, I know I would have messed this up. Messed _us_ up. And who knows, you might’ve despised me right now instead of being here with me.”

Hermione turns to him with a wry smile. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe all that’s true. But... I wish we’d done it differently.”

They are well finished with tea. Hermione has put the packages away, and they are sitting together on the blanket, a foot or two between them. His posture somewhat mirrors hers—knees bent, arms resting on them—though it is clear he is more relaxed. 

He remembers all the nights they’d spent around fires just like this one, all the pine cones and branches they’d burned. He thinks about the needles if the Scots pine—two growing together, always two. There were nights where she’d rest her head on his shoulder, where he’d put his arm around her. Friendly gestures of comfort whenever one of them needed it. 

He scoots closer, loops an arm over her shoulder, and pulls her toward him. She stiffens immediately and he thinks he was stupid to think it might be just that simple—as if the years between them meant nothing and they could be the same people they were back then. 

But then she relaxes and leans into him, her head dropping onto his shoulder. He can smell her hair, the fire, the burning pine. 

Without really deciding to, he kisses her temple. It’s a gesture he had always wanted to do, but he’d never allowed himself the luxury. 

She sniffs and swipes at her eyes. “I should go.” She doesn’t move. 

“Hermione—”

“You are the best friend I’ve ever had. Nobody has ever listened to me the way you did, or respected me, or seemed to genuinely like me for _me_. I suppose it was too much to ask that you might have loved me as well.”

“Hermione.” This has gone on long enough. “That’s all in the past, and there’s no changing anything. What remains to be discussed is what happens _next_.” 

She holds her head up, a scowl on her face. “Don’t be an arse, Draco. You know bloody well what happens next.”

He smirks. “Do tell.”

Her eyes narrow. “You marry Astoria in eleven days. That’s it. The end. Not that I’m counting.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” He speaks quietly, hesitantly. She has said many things to give him hope, but until he knows she wants him, he cannot be at ease. 

“What?” Her tone is sharp. 

He reaches up, wants to touch her, but hesitates at the look in her eye. He lets his hand drop. “Hermione, I didn’t come here today just to fulfill some obligation or have a fireside chat. I spent a sleepless night and an awful morning wrestling with myself about what to do.”

“Draco, you don’t have to—”

“May I finish?”

She purses her lips, clearly wants to say more, but she looks away instead. 

It’s not a huge thing, but he feels the chill. Gently, oh so gently, he puts two fingers under her chin, applies the barest hint of pressure, and she turns toward him. He had wanted to say something, but suddenly they’re gazing at each other, so very close, and her eyes are windows thrown wide open. 

He keeps his fingers on her jawline, trails along it with a feather-light touch. When he nears her lips, he knows he can’t resist anymore. The same fundamental pull he’d felt at eighteen is stronger than ever, and now, there’s no reason not to give in. Even though he’s terrified, even though he hasn’t been given that complete, indisputable proof he thought he needed, even though his hands shake, he dips down and touches his lips to hers. He knows they touch from the slightest feel of pressure but then it’s gone.

She pulls away.

“Draco, don’t.”

He feels slightly dizzy from the sudden loss of her. He can’t believe she stopped him—again.

Only, she hasn’t moved much; her eyes are wary, searching his. 

He swallowed hard. “Hermione—”

“No, Draco. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to start something you can’t finish.” She pulls farther back, a determined note in her voice. “I won’t be some last fling before you settle down, some itch you’ve denied and want to scratch before it’s too late.”

“Please, just—”

“No!” She moves away completely now, tucking her knees close to her body again, wrapping in on herself as tightly as she can. She wipes at falling tears, but quits to let them flow freely. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.” She begins frantically gathering her things. “I never expected you to actually show up. Why would you? You’re engaged!”

When she stands to pick up the blanket, the one he’s still sitting on, she yanks it hard. It doesn’t budge and neither does he. 

She gives him a pleading look, and he sighs, slowly rising to his feet. Her hands are shaking as she tries to fold it, but it’s a losing battle. 

Draco steps toward her, takes the blanket, and drops it on the ground. He knows how she must feel: desperate to get away but dreading it all the same. He closes the distance with another measured step, slipping his way into her orbit. 

She looks at him boldly, red-rimmed eyes defiant. 

When he is near enough that he can feel her body heat, he shoves his hands into his pockets. He’s not going to let her push him away a third time. 

“Granger.” His voice is low but it carries a warning—a promise. “I want you to stop being so bloody stubborn for one minute. I told you my morning was awful, and it was probably the worst few hours of my life. But I got through them, and now I’m here. I wouldn’t be here if not to fulfill every piece of that pledge we took. Five years, remember? Enough that I thought I would be through whatever the Ministry threw at me. Five years to meet and see what, if anything, is still here. Between us.”

Her eyes are a turbulent mix of warring emotions. “Astoria is between us.”

He takes one step closer, arms extended, pleading. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say! She’s not! I told my parents this morning. I refused to go through with it. I never wanted to in the first place, but I... It’s such a complicated mess. But it doesn’t matter.” 

Another step. She is gaping at him, wide-eyed, almost alarmed. But she hasn’t moved away from his slow advance. “My father is livid, refuses to speak to me. My mother... she’s torn. But I’m not. I had to. I don’t know how I let things come to this; maybe Azkaban drove all good thoughts from my mind. But something clicked into place—everything made sense when I thought of you, and I knew I couldn’t come here with any ties or obligations. Just me. Because that’s all I can offer you.”

One more step. He’s close enough to take her in his arms, but he doesn’t dare. The fire has been neglected and the flames are dying, taking all the heat with them, but the smell of burnt pine still hangs heavy in the air. 

Draco hesitates. 

“What are you saying?” Her voice is a whisper, her eyes dancing with forbidden hope.

He clears his throat. “I’m saying... that I’m here. I’m _here_ , Hermione. With everything that means.” 

She bites her lip, searching his face. He waits, patient; he has nothing to hide. Finally, her gaze locks on his eyes. There is a moment—a heartbeat—where it feels like he can’t breathe, like everything in his life has been building to what happens next, and the waiting is almost more than he can bear. 

Then she closes the distance, chilly air rushing out of her way, and she is kissing him. Her lips move on his, and he wastes no time, sliding his hands along her cheeks, his touch soft but unapologetic. Unyielding. Jealous for every stretch of skin he can possibly touch. 

She is eager, insistent, pulling at him as though afraid he might disappear. 

It is a frantic, heated kiss, borne of years of waiting and delayed gratification. He swipes his tongue across her lips, hungry to have all of her she’s willing to give. She whimpers, fisting the lapels of his robes to pull him closer, and allows him to deepen the kiss. 

He had imagined snogging her on a daily basis in school, but reality is nothing like his daydreams. She is real, flesh and bone and blood, and she is kissing him with an intensity that is all-consuming. He’s going to combust if her hands clench any tighter, if she crushes her body closer. 

In the space of another heartbeat, it is suddenly not enough, and he snakes his arms around her waist, pulling her to him as tightly as possible. She releases his cloak and twines her arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. He had thought they were close before, but now the only thing between them is a few oppressive layers of fabric. He can feel her curves pressed against him, and it’s all he can do to keep his hands from wandering. 

It's the most intense moment of his life, and he hadn’t been wrong to think that everything would be different after kissing Hermione Granger.

But—Merlin, Morgana, Circe—he craves more.

As if reading his thoughts, Hermione abruptly pulls back, cheeks deeply flushed, eyes shining, and lips swollen, thoroughly snogged. 

She shakes her head, not moving away. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about doing that.”

He shuts his eyes, rests his forehead against hers. 

Without a word, she slides her hands down his arms, finding his and lacing their fingers together. She gives them a squeeze, then tilts her head very slightly, something unreadable in her eyes. 

“You’re so beautiful.” 

She shivers slightly, and he quickly wraps his cloak around her. In a very natural next step, she puts her arms around him and rests her head on his chest, right over his heart.

“Are you alright?” 

He frowns down at her, incredulous. “What do you mean?”

She presses a hand over his heart. “It’s beating so fast.”

“Oh. That. I assure you, I’m more than fine.” 

She bites her lip and looks up at him, blushing. “I didn’t quite mean to… um. That is. Only… I’m not sorry.”

“No. Never be sorry. We’ve only been waiting five years, after all.” He smiles at her, then nods toward the fire. “It’s almost out.”

“Should I throw on a few more pine logs?”

It’s an invitation. 

It’s the promise of more. 

Yet, it is fraught with fear and uncertainty. He hears it in the barely-there tremble in her voice, the too-easy smile. His life has changed irrevocably in the course of a day, and when his parents find out the reason he called things off with Astoria, it could get ugly. 

But right here, right now, is everything he wants. 

He nods and goes to the wood pile they’d made as students and pulls off a few worn and damp logs. With a quick flick of his wand, they are dry, and he arranges them carefully on the embers. Together, they stoke the fire with a few pine cones to make it pop, bringing it back to life. 

Hermione sets her blanket down again, and Draco sits beside her, thrilling when she accepts his hand and laces their fingers once more. 

“I didn’t expect you to come.” She gives him a hesitant smile. “With Astoria, and everything. I assumed you were happy with her.”

Draco shakes his head. “It was something I felt I had no choice about, and I wanted to make the best of it. The last I’d heard for certain, you were in a relationship, but Mother refuses to allow the _Prophet_ in our home, and she’s hated _Witch Weekly_ since they ran an article on ‘House Arrest Fashion’ and featured her without her permission or knowledge.” He shrugs. “We don’t really hear all the latest gossip. I searched all morning for some clue about your relationship status.”

“When we talked before, about us, there was more to your hesitation than your impending trial. I hate to bring it up, but it doesn’t sound like anything has changed with your parents.”

“That’s true. My father’s first order of business upon being released from prison was to secure me a match.” He scowls, tossing another pine cone into the fire. “He’s on house arrest for the next ten years, though, so I’m not terribly worried about him. No magic, either. I think he feels like he has to assert himself in other ways.”

She leans her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” 

They’re quiet for a while, watching the flames. If he lets himself, he can forget that they aren’t in eighth year still, forget that so much time has passed since their emotional separation at King’s Cross. They’d spent the whole ride back together, taking the train instead of Apparating , because it meant a few more hours together before their world would split them apart. 

He’d been so sure, then, that nothing would keep him from her if it was in his power; yet somehow, the weight of his existence had essentially forced her to the back of his thoughts, then out of them completely once his father was released. He remembers that she’d been with Weasley when he’d gotten out of prison, and then it seemed like every time he turned around, he heard rumors that they’d be getting engaged any second. That never happened, and then it had been enormous news when they’d split. He’d felt hopeful then, but could never quite muster the courage to approach her. He was scrubbing pans at St. Mungo’s, what did he have to offer her? Then she’d started seeing someone else, and he’d stopped following the news about her. There’d been no promises between them, other than the pact to meet, so when his father started talking about marriage, Draco hadn’t bothered to resist. It had been an exercise in keeping the peace that had somehow resulted in Lucius choosing Astoria, a courtship being initiated, and then a marriage agreement being reached. He had mainly stayed out of the way, foolishly adopting a strategy of ignoring it in the hopes it would go away. For some reason, he hadn’t even considered reaching out to Hermione. His father was too imposing, and Draco had retreated into himself. 

It felt so stupid and pointless now. On the cusp of marrying someone he didn’t love, it was like he’d finally woken up to his own life and didn’t like where it was headed one bit.

“What happens now?” Her question breaks through his dark musings.

“What do you want to happen now?”

She lifts her head and looks him in the eye. “I want the chance we didn’t take. But what does that look like for you?” 

He shrugs. “I don’t really care, honestly. I wouldn’t have come here tonight if I did. I came to see you, ready to walk away from everything if I have to. And I mean it, I will go home right now, tell my father I’m with you, and bear the fallout. If worse comes to worst, I can stay with Theo. I’ve got a thriving position at Mungo’s, after all.” 

The attempt at humor falls slightly flat. He has his own personal vault, and it’s enough to last him comfortably for some time, but if he truly walks away, if his parents cut him off completely—if he hopes to support a family someday—he will need a source of income. He did well in many subjects, of course, but there isn’t a lot of demand for an ex-Death Eater.

“Hey. You’re thinking too far.” 

A grin spreads across his face at her familiar statement. It’s one she used to say when he’d get lost down a line of thinking, testing each possible branch of the path he was considering. “We take this chance. And we take what comes with it.”

“I’m only going to say this once because you’re a grown man and I trust you to know your own mind.” She sits up, pulls her hand from his. “But are you sure about this?”

He smirks, pulling her back into his side and kissing the top of her head. “Are you mad? Taking this chance is everything I’ve ever wanted. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“It’s been awhile since we talked. I still want to know how you’ve been since school ended.” She lets go of his hand and wraps his arm around her shoulder. 

“I’ve told you, haven’t I? There really isn’t more to my story.” It’s a vast oversimplification, of course. “We’re going to need more pine cones if we’re going to keep this fire going.”

She takes his free hand and kisses his palm. “Haven’t you heard? It’s the longest night of the year. We’ve got all night, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” 

There’s part of him that doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s got her now, and he’d rather move forward, begin weaving their own story, seeing how she fits into his life in a whole new way. But she is sincere in her wish to know every little thing about him, and he cannot— _will_ not—deny her anything. 

It's five years later than his heart wanted, but he believes it was for the best. Now, rather than a dark, murky road ahead, all he can see is a clear path, bright and wide, and the possibilities are endless.

_===_

_I will wait until it all goes around,  
With you in sight, the lost are found_

_===_

**Author's Note:**

> Many unending thanks to whoever nominated me for Advent this year! It’s such a huge honor to be invited to participate in this fest and I had a blast. The prompt I wrote for was “pine cones.” I hope you enjoyed this.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, dreamsofdramione, who also made the graphic!
> 
> Story title and lyrics from a song (in center, italics) by The Band called _Whispering Pines_. I heard the song sung by Dar Williams, my absolute favorite musical artist, so when I think of this song, I hear her voice.


End file.
